


Mi Casa Es Su Casa

by MotherGoddamn



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/pseuds/MotherGoddamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel is trying to make a fast buck by renting out his apartment to those who need a little privacy. What could possibly go wrong? [Based on The Apartment]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Mi Casa Es Su Casa  
Chapter 1**

  
  
'I can explain!' Kurt said, before his rear had even hit the chair. 'It's not what it looks like.'  
  
His boss, David Karofsky, stood there with Kurt's appointment book in his hands. He looked up, narrowing his eyes. 'Oh, really?'  
  
'It just- it got out of hand. At first it was a favour for Finn and then Noah asked if I could help him and then pretty soon Mike wanted it and-'  
  
'Brittany. The girl from the canteen?' Karofsky frowned down at the page. 'The daffy one?'  
  
'Ah, yeah,' Kurt pulled on his collar. 'You see-'  
  
'And what do all these little notes mean? Next to Jesse St. James it says two theatre tickets for  _Promises, Promises_ , matinee.' Karofsky tapped the page. 'Is that- Is that  _payment_ , Hummel?  
  
Kurt bit his lip. 'In a manner of speaking-,' he said, ducking his head. Oh, God. He was  _so_  fired.  
  
'So,' Karofsky slammed the book shut. 'Let me get this straight. You've been renting out your apartment so people can hook up in it?'  
  
Kurt opened his mouth. It sounded so sordid when you put it like that. Sordid but- fitting. '...Yes.'  
  
Karofsky pressed his fingers together and leaned back in the chair. 'Hmm.'  
  
'I know this looks bad, and weird and- and indecent, and morally dubious but I honestly have a good explanation and if you could just see it in your heart not to-' Kurt took a deep intake of breath, 'you know, fire me, I could-'  
  
'I don't get it,' said Karofsky, holding a hand up to forestall him. 'This isn't like you. You seem so-so-' He twirled a finger, searching for the word.  
  
Kurt sighed and nodded sadly. 'Moral?'  
  
'Prudish. Frigid.' Karofsky tapped at the desk with a grin. 'Sexless!'  
  
Kurt nearly bit through his tongue. Four months working with Dave Karofsky and it was a wonder he still had a tongue. 'I see,' he answered between clenched teeth.  
  
Karofsky threw the book down, regarding Kurt for a moment. His finger pressed to his top lip, just under his nose. 'Hmm,' he said after an uncomfortable minute.  
  
'Look, if you're going to fire me then just do it.' Kurt crossed his legs and stared at the window behind him. 'But you know you won't get another assistant as good as me.'  
  
'You can't work the intercom.'  
  
'I-' Kurt blushed. 'I'm getting better at it.'  
  
'You keep telling my clients that Lord Satan will see them now.' Karofsky pointed at the device. 'Red button means off, Judy.'  
  
'That- I thought that was our little joke!' Kurt made a little running action with his arms. 'You call me girly names and I call you-'  
  
'A balding, chubby neanderthal who covers himself in glue, runs through Target's menswear section and hopes for the best?'  
  
Kurt really needed to get the hang of that intercom.  
  
'Ah.' he hedged. 'But that aside you can't deny how since hiring me your clients have doubled, that everything is more organised and efficient and- and-' Kurt was grasping now, '-colour co-ordinated!'  
  
Kurt couldn't lose this job. He couldn't. That would have made everything he had done so far pointless.  
  
'Yeah, you do put all these fruity tabs on shit.' Karofsky tapped a file. 'And the clients like you but-'  
  
'Please,' Kurt heard the whine in his voice and hated it. Forget it. He'd regret it later. He had his pride sure, but he had responsibilities more.  
  
'I want in.'  
  
'In where?'  
  
'Your apartment. I want on your books, except I'm free. You get me?' Karofsky clasped his fingers into a prayer gesture. 'You can carry on whatever— _this_  is- but I want the ultimate say so on what nights. Shit like that.'  
  
Kurt blinked. No. He couldn't have Dave Karofsky in his apartment. His lovely little East Village loft, his refuge from the horrifying reality of...well,  _Dave Karofsky_. It was bad enough having him in the same state. 'But you-'  
  
'Married? Like everyone on this list of yours are pure virgins. I know for a fact that Hudson got married last year to that blonde chick.' Karofsky smiled. 'Who's he screwing? Berry from accounts?'  
  
Kurt reddened and he began to pick at the hem of his sleeve. 'Part of the deal is, I don't say, Sir.'  
  
'Whatever. Look, I need a break from my wife. She's loud, bitchy and sometimes a guy needs to just get laid without the nagging or dubious credit card bill. I'm sure you know where I'm coming from.' Karofsky frowned. 'Well. You've probably read about it in books.'  
  
Kurt felt his eyes narrowing and only barely held back his impulse to retort,  _Oh, and you're familiar with books, are you, Sir?_  He managed instead to confine his remarks to a simple, 'You wouldn't be the first person to say so.'  
  
'Tale as old as time, right?' Karofsky smirked. 'I want it tomorrow, Hummel. Make it happen.'  
  
'It's done.' Kurt marked a large X across the specified evening. 'As it turns out, I have tickets to see - '  
  
'I really don't care,' his boss interrupted. 'Just don't be there. Now get back to work.'  
  
Kurt trudged back to his desk and dropped down heavily into his chair. How had Karofsky found out? Probably Israel. He couldn't keep his mouth shut about anything. Why had he ever allowed himself to get into this ridiculous mess? He glanced over at the picture of him and his father, lined by a silver decorative frame.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
That was why.  
  
The phone shrilled out loudly and broke Kurt from his thoughts. With a sigh, he composed himself and answered on the third ring.  
  
'Fury Industries, Kurt Hummel speaking. How can-'  
  
'Cut the crap,' Santana said. 'The less I have to hear of your freakish Betty Boop voice, the better.'  
  
'Mrs. Karofsky,' Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Do you want me to transfer your call?'  
  
'I need the apartment.' He heard ice cubes hitting glass. 'And I'm bringing my own CD's. Celine Dion? How do you ever get laid, Hummel?'  
  
'Well, that certainly seems to be the question of the day.' Kurt pulled his book to him, opening to the current date. 'When?'  
  
'Tomorrow.'  
  
'Ah,' Kurt cringed at the black X that was scrawled across the page. Karofsky. 'It's out.'  
  
'Unout it. I need it.'  
  
Well, this was awkward. How do you tell one cheating spouse that their husband had beaten her to the punch?  
  
'I can't. I'm really sorry, Mrs. Karofsky.' Kurt braced himself for the deriding that was sure to follow but it didn't come. Instead, Santana sighed heavily.  
  
'Fine. Put me through to Good and Plenty.'  
  
'Um, okay. Sure.' Kurt pressed the transfer button and hoped he hadn't sent her through to Beijing. Again.  
  
The phone was barely back on the hook a second before it began ringing once more.  
  
'Fury Indu—'  
  
'I need the apartment.'  
  
'Puck.' Kurt rubbed at his temple. 'Good morning to you, too.'  
  
'Yeah, whatever. Listen, I need it for tonight. There's this girl,  _stacked_. And I mean stacked. But I can't take her back to my Mom's. She'll think I'm pathetic.'  
  
'Imagine.'  
  
'So, I need it from, say, 8ish to midnight.'  
  
'Oh, no. I've just had the worst day and it isn't even nine, yet. I just wanted one relaxing night where I can soak in the bath, wrap myself up in my new Gloleni bathrobe and watch  _The Grand Hotel_  while eating bad Chinese food.' Kurt sighed, settling back into his chair. It was going to be Heaven.  
  
'Hummel, come on. Have your gay orgy another night. I'll owe you.'  
  
'You already owe me. Can't you just take her to a hotel? Just this once?'  
  
'What? Chicks don't like that. It makes them feel cheap. They feel all classy and stuff in your place. I think it's all the pine.'  
  
'Puck—' Kurt said, a warning note in his voice.  
  
'$200. Up front.' Puck snapped out quickly. Kurt's gaze moved over to his father staring back at him, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something off camera.   
  
'Okay. But be out by midnight, and this time leave the right key out. I had to sleep in the park last time. I nearly froze to death.'  
  
'I thought that was where your people all met up?'  
  
Kurt removed the phone from his ear and banged it hard three times against the desk. He put it back to his ear.  
  
'—king ow, what the fuck!'  
  
'Sorry!' Kurt trilled. 'I dropped it. What were you saying?'  
  
'Nothing,' Puck muttered. 'I'll be more careful about the key. Thanks.'  
  
'And no red wine in the bed this time, Puck. Those sheets cost more than you're paying me.'   
  
They didn't, actually, since he was an excellent bargain hunter, but Puck didn't need to know all of his secrets.  
  
'Jesus fuck, any other rules you want to lay down,  _Mom?_ '  
  
Kurt smiled sweetly. 'No flushing the condom, take it with you when you go.'  
  
He hung up, cutting off Puck's indignant howl at the idea of carrying a used condom around, and fired off a quick text to Mercedes suggesting a bad movie night and copious amounts of ice cream. She was starting to think his place was haunted. Kurt was starting to wish it was.  
  
Okay. This day officially sucked. He needed something to take the edge off.  
  
He needed Blaine.

* * *

'I put the thingy in the slot and it's not opening on the-' Kurt motioned at the screen, '...thing.'  
  
Blaine nodded slowly. 'Just out of curiosity. Were you related to the recruitment manager?'  
  
'Hey!' Kurt swatted at his arm. 'I'll have you know that I'm actually extremely intelligent. Look,' Kurt pressed at the front of hard drive, smiling triumphantly as it whirred open. 'I found the cupholder.'  
  
'I stand corrected and- Oh, God! Take your cup out! I thought you were joking!' Blaine darted across the desk, removing the drink while patting the hard-drive, a look of horror on his face.  
  
Despite how much Kurt hated this job, at least it had the perk of Blaine Anderson as the cute IT consultant. And it wasn't sexual harassment if you didn't touch.  
  
Touch  _much_ , anyway.  
  
'-and then you wait for the computer to recognise the hardware. You're probably being too impatient and yanking it out too soon. Just keep it in, and let it get used to it being in there.'  
  
Okay, none of that should sound as dirty as it did.  
  
'Thank you. You're a life saver.' Kurt clasped his hands together. 'What would I do without you?'  
  
'Set fire to something I suspect.' Blaine laughed, clicking at the mouse and moving the files onto the desktop. 'But, no, thank you. Coming down here to tell you how to switch on your monitor is highlight of my day. I spend most of it removing viruses from Jacob Israel's hard drive.'  
  
'Porn?'  
  
' _So_  much porn.' Blaine shuddered. 'I've seen things that no gay man should ever see.' He tutted. 'What's going on with your background? It looks-' He tilted his head trying to make sense of the twisted limbs and crushed metal. 'Oh, my-'  
  
'Gaga.' Kurt finished. 'It's the cover of her new album, brilliant isn't it? Although, I can't get it to stop- what?' Kurt bit his lip. 'Oh! I forgot you told me to stop downloading wallpaper.'  
  
Kurt so hadn't. He also knew exactly how to use a USB. He was also aware of just how pathetic and desperate he really was.  
  
'The cursor- You changed the cursor to a dinosaur,' Blaine whimpered.  
  
'It's so cute when it's running!'  
  
'It's probably always running thanks to the amount of crap you have stored on here.' Blaine narrowed his eyes but his lips were curved into a smile. With a glance to Karofsky's door, he lowered his voice. 'Have you heard back?'  
  
Oh, yeah. Yet another disaster in Kurt's life.  
  
'No.' He shrugged. 'I'm not getting my hopes up, either. I'm a fashion major drop out, who has ended up answering phone-calls for,' he gestured loosely around the room. ' - this rathole. That doesn't exactly make me look like a go getter. I'm certain my designs aren't exactly burning up the Schuester offices.'  
  
'Hey!' Blaine bumped his shoulder against Kurt's. 'They'd be mad not to take you on as an intern.'  
  
'Actually,' Kurt corrected. 'They'd be smart.'  
  
Who was Kurt kidding, anyway? Like he could take on an unpaid internship when—well, when everything was so messed up. It was all Blaine's fault with his sexy jaw and sexy eyes and Montgomery Clift eyebrows and sexy encouragement. He'd let himself be talked into it by a guy who he barely spoke to more than three times a week.  
  
Four times if you counted when Kurt managed to jam the printer. It had taken ages getting the fork to stick at that angle.  
  
'You need to stop being so negative,' Blaine said holding up the pendant on his cord chain, the green shamrock gleaming under the office light. 'See? I carry my luck.'  
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. 'Seriously?'  
  
'Seriously. This was carved from the blarney stone and blessed by St. Patrick, himself.'  
  
'Really?' Kurt's eyes widened.  
  
'No! Oh, my  _God_. Remind me to buy livestock off you with beans, sometime. I got it from Temple Street in Dublin. That's where I spent my Junior Year Abroad.' He dropped it and it bumped against Blaine's chest with a gentle pat. Kurt had never yearned to be an item of jewellery more in his life. And there'd been close calls. 'I just think if you put faith in things, then fate will step in.'  
  
'That's—'  _Stupid_. '—sweet,' Kurt sighed, resting his cheek on his palm.  
  
'Right, I'd best get back. If your boss comes out—' A muscle twitched in Blaine's cheek, and Kurt took note. He thought Blaine liked everyone, he was even nice to Azimio when he was delivering the mail. Despite the fact he tended to hurl the packages through the door to save time. Kurt had a lump on his forehead that hadn't shown much sign of the swelling going down.   
  
'Well, he won't be happy to see you flirting instead of working!'  
  
'I wasn't flirting!' Kurt said too quickly. At Blaine's laugh and held up hands he fought the urge to take a cartwheel out of the window. Twenty stories should do it.  
  
'I was joking, Kurt!' He stood up, dusting down his trousers. 'Right, I'll see you-'  
  
' _Evita_ ,' Kurt blurted. 'Tomorrow.'  
  
'Sorry?'  
  
'I have a spare ticket for the show, and it seems a shame to waste it. We could go! As workmates. Friends.' Kurt had stepped out of his body and was hurling abuse at himself from across the room. When he got back in there he was going to order bricks and have Azimio next day deliver them to his face. 'If—if you like?'  
  
Blaine's face scrunched up into a wide smile, one of those completely happy unselfconscious smiles that cheer up anyone in a ten mile radius. If Kurt wasn't completely crushing on him, then he'd probably be writhing in jealousy. 'Sure. Sounds fun.'  
  
'What?' Kurt cocked his head. 'I didn't quite catch that.'  
  
'I said yes. I could do with a night out.' He slapped at Kurt's shoulder. 'Thanks for asking, Kurt! You're a real pal.'  
  
Oh, Kurt didn't even care about the last part of the sentence. He was going to be in a dark place with Blaine Anderson for two hours!  
  
'Great! Great. I'll—er—I'll meet you at the theatre at seven. Outside the Palace theatre?'  
  
Blaine nodded, walking backwards out of the room. 'See you there.'  
  
Kurt sighed as he watched him leave. Today had started terribly, but at least things were looking up.  
  
'Hummel.'  
  
And maybe, who knew, after tomorrow maybe Blaine would look at him in a whole new light. A sexually charged, animalistic need light.  
  
'Hummel!'  
  
Kurt  _really_  hoped Blaine had his own apartment.  
  
'Hummel!' A thick folder landed on his desk with a thump and Kurt gave a start in his seat, his eyes moving up to an angry looking Dave Karofsky. 'I have been buzzing you on the damn inter—' Dave stopped, closed his eyes and began audibly counting. 'These need filing. Do you think that's within your realms of expertise, Cream Puff?'  
  
Kurt gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile. 'No problem.'  
  
One day? Dave Karofsky would work for him


	2. Chapter 2

  
**Mi Casa Es Su Casa**   
**Chapter 2**   


  
  
  
Kurt checked his watch again and cursed himself for not getting Blaine's number.  _Is this how people used to meet up in the nineties?_  It sucked. The crowd of the theatre was starting to thin, and from inside Kurt could hear the bell sounding out.  
  
Just a few more minutes. He'd be here.  
  
 _Oh, God_. What if something had happened to him? What if it was like that movie with Cary Grant? And in a few years time, Kurt would buy a painting off him and find him all paralysed and stuff on a couch? That—That would be kind of awesome, actually. Well, maybe not for Blaine but Kurt could certainly appreciate the melodrama of it all.  
  
He gave himself a shake. No, Blaine had simply decided not to come. That was all.  
  
Hot liquid filled his eyes and he blinked them away. He was not pathetic enough to stand outside, two tickets in his hand while sobbing. He had some pride. Turning on his heel, he raised his nose in the air and marched into the theatre. He might as well see the damn thing since he was here. At the very least, it would kill time until he could go back to his place, Karofsky had it until 2am. Ergh, Kurt really didn't want to allow his overactive imagination to touch that one. Yuck. He could almost hear the 70's porn saxophone kicking in.  
  
Taking his seat, Kurt tried to clear his thoughts and concentrate on the events on stage.  
  
And tried, and tried.  
  
$30 for  _this_? The woman playing Eva Peron charged about on stage, hysterical and shrill. He supposed there were some pithy comments in there, but it was delivered with such grandiosity that he found himself contemplating the set instead. Neat. I wonder if the columns will move.  _Oh, boy! They're moving! This is fantastic. Oho, here comes the sliding table-_  
  
Kurt felt a pair of eyes on him and glanced sideways at a couple staring at him, their smiles sympathetic. Nobody came to see this show by themselves and elected to stay. Oh, God. He gave a tight smile back and stared back at the stage.  
  
 _'Psst_ ,' a voice whispered.  
  
Kurt gritted his teeth and tried to drown out the hissing sound. This wasn't happening.  
  
 _'Psst_  Hey!'  
  
He took a deep breath and turned to his tormentor, forcing a tight smile onto his face. 'Yes?'  
  
'You here on your own?' she asked with a tilt of a head.  
  
'Er, yeah. Yeah.' Kurt shrugged. Thanks for pointing that out. Swell. Maybe they could get Che up there to slip it into verse or something.  
  
'That's a shame. Isn't it a shame, Phillip?' She turned to the man beside her and tapped at his knuckles. 'Lovely young man like that, being alone.' She jumped in her seat in excitement. 'Oh, we have a daughter your age!'  
  
Kurt's eyes widened and his gaze met Philip's, who discreetly looked down at Kurt's hot pink cravat and raised his brows. 'Oh! Thank you for the offer, but er—I—thanks!'  
  
She leaned over and rubbed at his shoulder. 'No need to thank me! Here!' She scrambled in her purse and removed a small white card. 'This is her number. Now you give her a call, okay? A nice young man like you. It's a shame, isn't it, Philip?'  
  
'It's a shame all right, Velma,' Philip deadpanned.  
  
Kurt smiled politely and took the card from her, tucking it into his jacket pocket. 'Thanks.'  
  
'Shh!' A man in front hissed back at them. Kurt and the woman shared an amused look and sank down into their seats.  
  
'Do you have anything for him?' whispered Kurt cheekily.  
  
She pretended to root in her bag. 'Maybe some Valium...'  
  
'Will you please shut up!' The man in front snapped, turning in his seat. 'Some of us came here to watch the damn play.'  
  
'Ohhhh!' The woman said back sarcastically. ' _Sorreee_ e.' She winked at Kurt. 'Talk to you later, Sweetie.'  
  
Kurt nodded and tried to concentrate on whatever he was supposed to be watching. God, he was lost. On stage, they were singing about Des Camisados or something. Kurt hummed along, remembering this bit because he'd paused Antonio Banderas's heavenly face so many times as he ranted this part. This production severely lacked Antonio, though, and his attention drifted once again.  
  
If Blaine hadn't wanted to come he could have just said.  
  
 _No! Shut up about Blaine. Watch the play_.  
  
How long was he going to be under Karofsky's thumb?  
  
 _Argh! Play. Play!_  
  
It just didn't seem like Blaine. Blaine was sweet and considerate. Hell, he even remembered Kurt's coffee order. Even Brittany couldn't do that and she was paid to.  
  
Kurt had thought maybe they'd been getting close of late; had thought maybe Blaine was even a little interested. How wrong could you be?  
  
Kurt spent the play conjurin up scenarios that would stop Blaine from turning up at the theatre. He particularly enjoyed the ten car pile up that crushed Karofsky's Mercedes. When polite clapping signalled the end of the show, a bewildered Kurt blinked slowly and then joined in.  
  
With a quick goodbye to Velma and Philip, he more or less flew from the theatre before she invited him back to her daughter's for a quick elopement. Reaching the sidewalk, he grabbed his cell from his jacket, scrolling down his contacts.  
  
Okay. It was ten thirty. Only three and a half hours to kill.  
  
'Mercedes!' Kurt cried down the cell as the crowd jostled him. 'Are you-'  
  
'Kurt, I'm so sorry but I was just on my way out!' Kurt heard Tina laughing in the background and urgings to hurry up. 'Can I call you tomorrow?'  
  
'Sure!' Kurt went through his friends in his head. 'I'll- I'll talk to you then.'  
  
Ending the call, Kurt tucked the cell into back his pocket with a sigh. He was supposed to be with Blaine right now! He was supposed to be shyly suggesting a coffee at a charming little place round the corner, while Blaine's hazel eyes lit up with interest. They'd have talked into the early hours and then made their way home, dragging their feet and shooting each other knowing looks as they neared Blaine's address. Kurt would have made as if to leave and then Blaine would grab him by his arm, asking him to hold on in a soft voice. Then he would have leant forward and-  
  
That was it. Tomorrow, Kurt was uninstalling Windows 7 and putting in Vista. Let Blaine deal with that abortion.  
  
He wandered the streets for hours, spending time playing Angry Birds at some sad little pizzeria while the owner glared at him, mingled with drunken British tourists at a grimy little bar he was thrown out of within a few minutes of asking for a soda and, then, finally, he went home to sulk.  
  
At 2.13 am, Kurt made his way up the steps to his apartment. He didn't even care if Karofsky and whoever were still there. He'd just crawl in next to them and ask them to keep the noise down, then cry himself to sleep like the overgrown teenaged girl he was.  
  
It seemed clear, though. And a sniff to the air didn't return the expected  _Eau de Skank._  Good. The last thing Kurt's ego needed tonight was Dave Karofsky breathing down his neck.  
  
Throwing his coat over the nearest chair, Kurt headed for the bedroom, braced for the worst. He still had nightmares about untying Finn from that bed post. Berry from accounts had some serious control issues.  
  
Empty. And Karofsky had even remembered to strip the sheets. Kurt would burn them tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to curl into a ball, moisturising routine be damned.  
  
Pulling some blankets down from his wardrobe, he draped them over the mattress and quickly undressed, leaving his clothes at his feet. Slipping under the covers, Kurt pulled them up to his chin and tried to leave hazel eyes behind.  
  
 _Ow._  
  
Shifting, something dug into his back again and Kurt sat up, flicking the night stand light on.  
  
Some stupid hoop earring from QVC, no doubt. Kurt sighed as he scooped it up into his palm and brought the offending item to his face.  
  
And promptly felt his stomach drop as his fingers uncurled and revealed a very familiar shamrock necklace


	3. Chapter 3

'Kurt! Hey, wait up,' Blaine called again as Kurt stormed down the corridor.  
  
Kurt spotted his desk and gritted his teeth as he steeled himself.  _Sanctuary_.  
  
'Kurt! Will you-'  
  
 _Oh, God, get the hint, Blaine!_  
  
'Kurt! For goodness' sake!'  
  
With a sigh, Kurt gave up. He supposed he had to get this over with eventually.  
  
'Oh,' he said flatly, making his way into the office. 'I didn't notice you there.'  
  
'I'm- I'm holding onto your elbow?'  
  
Kurt glanced down with a sniff and shook his arm free. 'Well, this was nice but I have work to do.'  
  
'This is about last night, isn't it?' Blaine shook his head, his expression mournful. 'I am so sorry, I tried to get in touch but-'  
  
'Last night?' Kurt raised an eyebrow as he sat down. 'Oh! Was that  _you_? Yes, I forgot you were coming.'  
  
'Kurt,' said Blaine, a hint of desperation edging into his voice. 'Something came up.'  
  
'Please spare me the visuals,' Kurt muttered, pretending to fuss with the documents on his desk.  
  
'I left a message at the theatre for them to tell you I couldn't make it! Did you not get it? Oh, God. You  _didn't_ , did you?' Blaine sat down in front of him, leaning across and grabbing at his hand. 'Please, Kurt. Will you just listen?'  
  
Kurt sighed, moving back from his fingers and fixing his gaze onto Blaine. He looked, well, tired; there were bags under his eyes and his hair, usually shellacked to within an inch of its life, was mussed and flattened on one side. Kurt could feel the reluctant stirrings of pity and-wait!  _Was that sex hair?_  
  
Blaine bit his lip, lost in thought, seemingly not noticing Kurt's dry retching. 'There's this guy. A- My ex. We've been off and on for months now and-' Blaine ran a hand down his face. 'The thing is he is, well, the thing is-'  
  
'He's married,' Kurt filled in, closing his eyes to the images his mind decided to torture him with.  
  
Blaine looked up in surprise, his lips twisting in a bitter smile. 'Am I that obvious?'  
  
'Call it a lucky guess.' Kurt tapped at the desk. Should he tell him? Should he explain all about his arrangement with Karofsky?  
  
'I know I'm an idiot. The last thing I should be doing is getting involved with a married,  _closeted_ , man but-' he rubbed at his jaw, his eyes downcast. 'I didn't know at first.' His eyes flickered to Karofsky's door and then back to Kurt's face, apparently unaware of the tell. 'I mean, I knew he wasn't out, you know, at work.'  
  
'He lied to you?' asked Kurt. He couldn't even find it in himself to be shocked. No, that was just was Karofsky's style.  
  
'No, no, he just- He just didn't bring it up and then when he did, he was in so much pain, Kurt! But by then it was too late.' He shrugged sadly. 'He had me.'  
  
Kurt gritted his teeth. 'He sounds like a  _dreamboat._ '  
  
'I'm just painting a bad picture of him, that's all! Trust me, deep down there's a kind and gentle man.' Blaine smiled and Kurt felt sucker punched by the affection in it. The affection that was flying over Kurt's head, through the wood and onto the undeserving prick behind him.  
  
'You said it was on and off?' Kurt asked, firing up his computer and trying to sound disinterested. 'How did it end up back on?'  
  
Blaine winced. 'I know you must think I'm pathetic-'  
  
'No!' Kurt waved it away, ice leaving his voice for the first time, eager to reassure him.  'Come on, Blaine. You're not the only one to make a fool of himself over a guy.'  
  
Blaine raised his eyebrows. 'I didn't say  _fool_ , but thanks for that.' He smiled wryly. 'But- yeah. Yeah. I heard about that incident between you and Hudson.'  
  
Kurt blushed. 'We don't talk about that.'  
  
'How did you get him into the hot air balloon?'  
  
'Not talking about it!'  
  
'Did the kitten even  _live?'_  
  
'Blaine!'  
  
'Right, sorry. Sorry.' Blaine cleared his throat. 'So, yeah. I ended things with him about a month back. I was sick of the empty promises, the late night calls.'  _The almost certain back hair_ , Kurt thought. 'I just wanted out.'  
  
'And last night?' Kurt pressed.  
  
'Last night.' Blaine's stare found its way past Kurt's shoulder once more and then retreated. 'Last night he- well, he told me that he was going to leave her,' Blaine smiled sadly, playing idly with a pen on the desk. 'Like I've said, I've heard it all before, but last night something was different. He meant it. I'm sure. I think so, anyway.' He grabbed at his hair. 'God, I don't know what to think!'  
  
'Why?' asked Kurt softly. 'Why was it different?'  
  
'Well, for one thing we went back to his apartment.'  _Oh, God_. 'I mean his wife was away of course, but that's a big step, right? Letting me into such an important part of his life?'  
  
Kurt felt shame slam through his body. This was his fault. How could he tell him the truth? And even if he did, what would Blaine think of him? Would he understand if Kurt explained why, or would he be too disgusted? Kurt felt a little disgusted himself.  
  
'Er, sure.' Kurt said absently as he berated himself in his head. 'I guess.'  
  
'And,' Blaine smiled, 'he told me he loved me.'  
  
Kurt closed his eyes, and counted to ten. The roaring in his head drowning out the rest of Blaine's sentence. Love. In love with Karofsky. And here was Kurt thinking that love broke the spell and turned the Beast back into a Prince. Not in this version, no. In this version, the Prince had mild B.O and regularly wore brown shoes with a black suit.  
  
'- see him as gruff and rude, but with me he is so gentle and kind. I don't know. I'm probably being naïve but- I just have a good feeling about him this time.' Blaine stared off into the distance, a goofy smile settling onto his features. 'I guess you call that love, don't you?'  
  
'I believe the medical term is cataracts.'  
  
'Pardon?'  
  
'I said that's wonderful!'  _Tell him, tell him_ , Kurt's brain chanted but his mouth remained clamped shut.  
  
With a slow blink, Blaine reached out, encircling his hand with his fingers. 'But that doesn't excuse me standing you up. Let me make it up to you! How about I take you out to dinner?'  
  
'I- I don't know.' Kurt's mouth felt dry, his heart pounding in his chest. From his side he felt the gaze of his father, staring out from the confines of the frame. He could almost taste the disappointment. 'Maybe? I-'  
  
'Kurt, I really am sorry.' Blaine's tone was solemn. 'I understand, though, if you'd rather not but, I guess, I was really happy we were becoming friends. I'd hate- I'd hate to think I'd messed that up for good.'  
  
Kurt racked his brain for an excuse,  _any excuse_ , as Blaine watched him fingers playing at his throat. 'What happened to your luck?' he asked, feeling the shamrock burn against his heart, confined to the inside of his jacket pocket.  
  
'Huh?' Blaine looked down at his clasping hand. 'Oh! I've- I'm not sure. I noticed it was gone this morning. That catch,' he shook his head, 'is always breaking.' He poked at Kurt's arm. 'The dinner, Kurt?'  
  
Kurt threw up his hands. 'Fine! But you're not forgiven. That's going to take an ungodly unhealthy dessert.'  
  
'At least!'  
  
'What about tomorrow nigh-' He broke off on seeing Blaine's wince. 'Oh, you're seeing him tomorrow? Yeah?' At least it's a heads up to make plans with Mercedes, he thought bitterly.

Blaine had the decency to blush. 'What about Wednesday? There's this amazing Thai place. Go on,' he batted his eyelashes and settled his expression into a look of sadness. On the pathetic scale, it was a puppy with a sore paw. 'Please?'  
  
Kurt sighed, and pushed past the guilt. 'Fine. But you're paying.'  
  


* * *

  
  
'Here,' Kurt said as he entered Karofsky's office, tossing the necklace onto the desk. 'Your  _friend_  left this at mine.'  
  
For a moment, Karofsky just stared down at the green pendant, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Shaking himself, he leant across and snatched up the chain, tucking it into his pocket.  
  
'Best get that back to-  _her_.' He grinned tightly, looking almost ill. 'You know how chicks can be.'  
  
 _No. Do you?_  
  
'What she's like?' Kurt asked sitting down and ignoring Karofsky's raised brows at his not waiting to be asked. 'Pretty?  
  
'What- I thought you didn't like knowing this shit?' Karofsky narrowed his eyes. 'I mean, yeah, she's hot. Of course.' He pointed at himself as if to say  _who could resist this?_  
  
Christ. It was as if he didn't know he looked like an over-stuffed armchair. What did Blaine see in him? Money. It had to be money. Or voodoo.  
  
'Nice eyes?'  
  
'Er, yeah. They're okay.'  
  
'Decent ass?'  
  
'Hummel!' Karofsky grinned, the unease ebbing for the first time. 'Maybe you ain't such a prig, after all? Great ass. Great! Muscular!'  
  
'Hmm. Strong jaw?'  
  
'Yeah. He rested his chin on his hands, smiling. 'Such strength.'  
  
'Nice broad shoulders?'  
  
'I gue-' Karofsky blinked. 'Wait.'  
  
Kurt threw his hands up in the air. 'I knew it! You son-of-a-bitch, I knew it!'  
  
Karofsky had the look of a deer caught in headlights. 'You knew what?' he whispered.  
  
'Oh, don't you try this with me,' hissed Kurt. He pointed an accusing finger at Karofsky. 'You disgust me!'  
  
Karofsky scowled. 'You're one of those self-hating types, aren't you?'  
  
'No, you fool! I just hate liars, is all.'  
  
'How did you know?' Karofsky asked, his voice hushed and eyes wide. 'That it was a- a he.' He gasped. 'Did you fucking film it, Hummel? You dirty little perv!'  
  
'Oh, my God! No! I'd rather watch  _Two Girls and a Cup_! I know because-' Kurt hesitated; it wouldn't be fair to give Blaine away. He settled on a shrug. 'One in five men are gay. I just guessed. Then you confirmed it.'  
  
'And where did you get these statistics?' Karofsky asked carelessly, his eyes betraying his worry. He was clearly pissed he had slipped up so easily.  
  
'Uh, boy-bands?'  
  
'Ah.' Karofsky lowered his gaze, thought for a moment. 'Is this a problem for you?''  
  
'I'm hardly going to judge,' said Kurt. He chewed on his lip, weighing his next words carefully. 'So... what's his name?' he asked, aiming for a light tone to his voice.  
  
'You wouldn't be interested.'  
  
'Yes I would!' Kurt coughed and studied his nails. 'I mean. Whatever.'  
  
Karofsky regarded him coolly for a moment and then he smiled tightly. 'Maybe we can come to sort of arrangement.' He rested his hand on the desk, but Kurt spotted the tremor.  
  
'Wha-what do you mean?' The nervous quality in Karofsky's voice unsettled Kurt and he found himself wishing he had left the damn shamrock in his pocket.  
  
'You obviously doing- whatever the hell it is that you're doing because you need funds.' He looked Kurt over and nodded. 'I'm thinking gender reassignment. So, I'll be willing to pay you to keep that mouth shut.'  
  
Kurt hissed so sharply that a faint whistle sounded out. 'You think I'd want to blackmail you?'  
  
Karofsky shrugged. 'Why else are you in here, Lambert?'  
  
'Because,  _DeGeneres_ ,' Kurt snapped. 'I-' Why was in he in here? Defending Blaine's honour, the honour that Blaine was pretty happy to leave in Karofsky's clammy oversized hands? Because he was jealous? Okay. So what? He was jealous. It wasn't like he could  _do_  anything about it. And anything he thought he could do was pointless. He couldn't risk it. It could ruin everything. 'I just wanted to know if you needed to talk to someone,' he said finally, his voice slipping out and gingerly embracing the air. 'I know it can't be easy. I mean, you're married and-'  
  
'It would kill her,' said Karofsky. 'She adores me. She has since high school. She can't know, Hummel.'  
  
'But if you love-,' Kurt bit back the name. 'If you love this person, then surely you want to be with them and-'  
  
'Love!' Karofsky laughed, genuine amusement in his eyes. 'I don't love him, Hummel! I could never love a dude. Screwing them is one thing but- I love my wife. I'm married to Santana. Okay? That's all there is to it.'  
  
Kurt had never hated anyone with such burning purity in his entire life. It seemed to explode in his chest and overtake his body, a white heat of fury scorching through his very skin. He didn't care that Karofsky was probably lying to himself. He didn't care about anything other than the fact that he had lied to Blaine and used  _Kurt_  to do it.  
  
Leaning forward, he gripped the armrests tight, the ache spreading throughout his fingers at the force of his grasp. Opening his mouth, he felt insults and accusations fly from his gut to his throat and...  
  
 _Nothing._  
  
Blaine wasn't the only person he cared about. He snapped his mouth shut, and squeezed back the hot tears that were quickly filling his eyes.  
  
If Karofsky noticed the strange behaviour, he didn't comment. 'I'm sort of glad this happened. That doesn't mean you can go mincing round the building telling people about this, but it would be pretty sweet to have someone to talk to.' He ran a hand over his forehead. 'It's hard, keeping it all in, you know?'  
  
 _Fabulous_. Kurt nodded and bit down on his fist. Hard.  
  
'Oh! And I need the apartment tomorrow. Let's say eightish?' Karofsky winked. 'There's this nice little Thai place that-'  
  
'Rachel Berry!' Kurt cried, jumping to his feet. 'I was supposed to call her ten minutes ago. About- about-'  
  
Karofsky rolled his eyes. 'She is not going about moving to the Communications department again, is she?'  
  
'Yes!' Kurt nodded, pleased for an out. 'But you know, she's so worried about how she'll make her big entrance there.' His words tumbled over themselves in his desperation to leave. 'I've told her to just make cupcakes but you know Rachel!'  
  
'I remember the can-can from last time. A little desperate if you ask me. Plus the kicks were all off,' Karofsky muttered as Kurt borderline ran for the exit. 'Oh, and, Kurt?' He nodded solemnly, his eyes to the side. 'Thanks.'  
  
With a jut of his chin, Kurt turned and left the office.  
  


* * *

  
  
Twenty minutes later, and Kurt still hadn't touched his keyboard or his phone. Instead, he sat with his head in his hands and racked his brains trying to find a way to fix this mess that he had created of his life. This wasn't where he was supposed to be, this wasn't the  _person_  he was supposed to be. When he looked in the mirror, he barely recognised himself anymore. He could tell Blaine the truth. There was that option. Kurt would lose Blaine, and probably his job, but it was the right thing to do. Or, he could keep up the lie. He'd still lose Blaine, but at least he could what he had set out to do. Maybe he just had to be ruthless. Ruthless like Karofsky. He was almost relieved for the phone's ring, interrupting the constant circle of his thoughts.   
  
'Good morning, this is-'  
  
'Milk Teeth,' said Santana, cutting right to the chase and to the insults. 'I need the apartment. Tomorrow night at eight.'  
  
He really needed to start screening these calls. 'Fine. Whatever!' he said, hanging up before she could even react. He stared at the handset for a moment, sighing. What a mess. What a great start to the day. At least after all this chaos, things couldn't get any worse.


	4. Chapter 4

For once, there apparently was a God in Kurt Hummel's life. Sure, he wasn't at home with bad Chinese and an even worse movie, but Mercedes was free, so he didn't have to spend his evening alone or at a crap off-Broadway showcase. Kurt was not entirely sure spending the evening doing laundry and bitching about his job was much of an improvement, however. Bitching about his job forced him to think about Karofsky, which made him think about Blaine, which made him think about Blaine and Karofsky...he was going to be sick. He swallowed back the bile.  
  
'Please. Like Karofsky would ever give me a raise. He made me buy my own stapler.'  
  
'I'm just saying, you never know until you ask.' Mercedes began to shove a cream capelet into her basket with an abandon that caused Kurt to wince. He'd saved for weeks to get her that from  _Anthropologie_  one Christmas. 'Speaking of, have you talked to that cute IT consultant of yours?'  
  
'I don't want to talk about it,' Kurt murmured, neatly folding his own clothing into the basket. Folding, Mercedes. Neatly.  _Take note._  
  
'He checked out your hard-drive yet, babe?'  
  
'Oh, God. That's terrible. I am burning your  _Two And A Half Men_  box sets.'  
  
'Don't act like you don't want to run a virus check on his floppy!' Mercedes teased. 'Oh, ew. I just heard that. For the record, it sounded way better in my head.'  
  
'It was bad for all, trust me,' Kurt sighed. 'Can we have one night without Karofsky and Blaine and- whoever! I just want to-'  
  
Kurt frowned.  
  
 _Karofsky and Blaine_. Why was that sitting strangely with him, sure they were at the apartment but- Hmm. Weird.  
  
'Kurt? You okay?'  
  
'Yeah, sorry. My brain wandered for a moment. I think it was spotting those jeggings in your basket that did it.'  
  
'Watch your mouth! I rock these.'  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. 'I love you, Mercedes, but  _basalt_  couldn't rock those.' No, really, why wasn't the thought of Karofsky and Blaine sitting more comfortably in his brain? Besides the obvious, that is.  
  
His friend jammed another article of clothing – Apple Bottom jeans, this time – into her basket. Those, he let go without a whimper, too intent on chasing down his bothersome train of thought.  
  
 _Karofsky and Blaine. Karofsky and Blaine_.  
  
'Damn, look at this.' Mercedes held up a pale blue top, splotched with red wine in a way that almost looked artistic. 'These stains are a bitch to get out.'  
  
 _Bitch. Karofsky. Blaine._  
  
 _Bitch._  
  
Santana!  
  
'Oh, my God!' Kurt cried, the realisation of what he'd done slamming into him like Wile E. Coyote into a cliff face. 'I've got to go!'

 

 

* * *

  
  
The door to his apartment was open as he approached it, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. Maybe he'd been robbed? It didn't mean that they were still there. Oh, God. Please let there be a space where the television used to be. Anything rather than four angry faces. Or an angry Blaine.  
  
He edged into the room, clothes crushed against his chest as if to provide protection. A broken glass scattered across the carpet, glinting this way and that under the light.  
  
 _This better not turn into a TV movie on the Manson family._ He checked the wall for messages in blood and kept moving slowly towards his bedroom. What if it turned into a French movie and they were all bouncing on the bed together, sneering and smoking?  
  
Someone  _needed_  to steal Kurt's TV, seriously.  
  
A cough came from up ahead and Kurt froze, his heart beating wildly. That had sounded like a guy. Or Santana. Which didn't narrow it down at all.  
  
 _Get a grip, Hummel!_  With a deep breath, he took long strides across the room. He could do this. This was his apartment for goodness' sake. He shouldn't be afraid of his own bedroom or the boy that was sitting, crying on his bed and...  
  
Oh.  
  
'Blaine?' Kurt called softly, causing Blaine to jump in shock.  
  
'Kurt! What are you-' Blaine squinted. 'I don't understand. Why are you-'  
  
'Dave's dry cleaning!' Kurt cringed, hoping Blaine didn't spot the pink kilt. 'I was just- dropping it off for him. Here. At his apartment. Yes.'  
  
Blaine shook his head, covering his face with his hands. 'Fantastic! This is just perfect!'

Kurt set the laundry on a chair in the corner of the room, making sure that a shirt covered the more obvious Hummel tastes in the collection. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and made his way over to Blaine.  
  
'Why are you here?' he asked, sitting down on the bed. 'Hey? Are you crying?'  
  
'No,' Blaine lied, wiping at his face.  
  
'Oh, Blaine,' Kurt whispered and that was all it took. Blaine wrapped his arms tight round him, tears flowing free. Kurt patted at his hair, holding back the urge to card his fingers through the curls.  
  
 _Your fault_ , he thought, as Blaine's shoulder's shook.  
  
 _He can never know._

 

 

* * *

  
  
'I can't believe I fell for it again,' Blaine said a hour later, scooping another piece of ice-cream into his mouth. 'Ihm soh pathetich!'  
  
'Okay, first,' Kurt held up his spoon, ' _swallow_ , and second, no you're not. You're just- just-' He twirled the spoon. 'Er-'  
  
'Naïve? Stupid? Ridiculous?' Blaine looked down into the bowl. 'Wait? Is this low-fat?'  
  
'Yes!' Kurt smiled. 'And organic!'  
  
'Really? That doesn't seem like Karofsky.' Blaine shrugged. 'See? Yet another thing I didn't know about him.' He sighed, as Kurt took the empty bowl from him, placing them on top of the dresser. 'God! You're right. I am such a fool.'  
  
'I never said that!' Kurt protested, returning to the bed to swat at Blaine's thigh. 'Optically challenged perhaps.'  
  
'I do this all the time. I get all wrapped up in a guy and then make it all up in my head. I just— _argh_!' He flung himself backward onto the bed with a thump. 'I thought I was so right this time! That he had changed!'  
  
'Blaine, he lied to you,' Kurt soothed, leaning back to join him. 'This isn't  _your_  fault.'  
  
'I'm glad his wife came back, in a way. It finally opened my eyes to a lot of things.' He shook his head. 'God, the excuses, Kurt. The things he called me.'  
  
'Did she- Did she walk in while you were-' Kurt blushed, nudging at Blaine's foot with his own. 'You know?'  
  
'What? Oh, God, no.' Blaine laughed bitterly. 'No. She burst in here with this woman and-'  
  
'A woman!' Kurt sat up in shock. 'Are you kidding me?'  
  
Blaine frowned. 'So? What's wrong with that?'  
  
'Oh! Nothing! Nothing.' Kurt lay back down, trying to relax his features back into calm sympathy. A woman! Santana Karofsky was gay too? It was a damn epidemic. 'Sorry. Go on.'  
  
'Hmm.' Blaine side eyed him. 'Well, she just ran in screaming at him. Calling him all these names. Best years of her life etc and then began yelling at her- I didn't really know what was going on but it was about this apartment. They kept asking why the other one was here.' Blaine turned onto his side, framing his face with a palm. 'Then she and the other woman left and he ran after her.'  
  
'He just left you here?'  
  
'I thought he'd come back. So I waited and waited- then you walked in.' He flung an arm over his eyes. 'He makes you drop off his dirty laundry at 10pm at night! How can I have ever fallen for him?'  
  
Kurt winced, glad that Blaine's view was obstructed for the moment. He was sure guilt was doing a cha-cha all over his face. 'Not exactly  _dirty_ , but yeah, he's a gem, alright.'  
  
'This must be his sleazy side sex apartment or something,' Blaine said, moving his arm and looking around the room. 'How did I actually think I could love a man that uses this much blue in one room.'  
  
'It's duck egg, actually. I think it's rather taste-'  
  
'And a lava lamp? What is this? The nineties?'  
  
'Maybe that was a gift from a friend? Or may-'  
  
'And just look the distressed etchings on that chest of drawers! How is it even  _possible_  to have a pretentious dresser?'  
  
'Stop taking it out on the decor!' Kurt snapped. 'I mean, you're not mad at the  _fantastically_ sophisticated room, Blaine. You're mad at Karofsky.'  
  
'And me. I'm mad at me, too,' he said softly. 'Kurt, you have no idea...I'm such a hopeless romantic. But I'm really inept and just generally oblivious. It's ridiculous. I'm so desperate to find The One that I try to turn  _everyone_  into The One and. Well. You see how it ends. I'm a prize idiot.'  
  
'You just need to keep looking, that's all. For someone who is kind, and funny and attractive and-' Kurt realised he was pointing at himself and turned it into a stretch. 'Or, you know, something.'  
  
Blaine smiled gently, his eyes crinkling. 'Thank you, Kurt. You know, you're a fantastic friend. Thanks for listening to my stupid whining.'  
  
But he wasn't a good friend. Not at all. Good friends didn't lie and withhold information or try to turn obviously bad situations to their own advantage.  
  
Kurt shook his head and turned to the side. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He had to tell him, because if it didn't-  
  
 _Shit!_  How had he missed that picture of him and his father? He kicked outward, knocking it from the night stand, thankfully hearing no shatter as it hit the floor.  
  
'Sorry, what?' Blaine said, opening his eyes.  
  
'I- I said bang.' Kurt shrugged. 'Bang!'  
  
'Why?'  
  
'I honestly don't know.'  
  
'You're weird, cute, but weird.' Blaine laughed. 'Luckily, I like that about you. Come on,' he said, sitting up. 'I'll walk you home.'  
  
'Wha- What?' Kurt blinked, following him quickly. 'Oh, no! I only live round the corner! That's fine. I'll lock up and see-'  
  
'Kurt!' Blaine nudged his shoulder. 'After you've been so nice to me? No way. Where do you live?'  
  
'I- I- South of Houston, off of Stanton,' Kurt stammered. 'But honestly, I can-'  
  
Blaine laughed and pulled Kurt up by his hand. 'Come on. I know a shortcut.'

 

 

* * *

  
  
_If Blaine liked weird and cute he was about to fall madly in love,_ Kurt thought as he stepped up to the doorway.  
  
'Well! This is me! Bye!'  
  
'Strange how the doorman didn't recognise you, huh?' Blaine said, tucking his hands into his pockets. 'I can't believe the amount of convincing it took to let us up!'  
  
'He's new! New! I'll see you tomorrow!'  
  
'Look, I'm sorry about throwing Dave's key into the park like that. Please tell him it was me. I'd hate for him to blame you.'  
  
'Oh, no.' Kurt gritted his teeth. 'That was  _hilarious.'_  
  
'Wasn't it, though? I wish I could see his face when he finds out.'  
  
'I could probably do a killer impression,' Kurt muttered, pretending to search in his jacket for another key.  
  
'Listen, Kurt.' Blaine took his hands out of his pockets and gripped at Kurt's shoulders. 'Seriously. Thank you for tonight. You won't believe how much I wish I'd gone to  _Evita.'_  
  
'The staging was weak,' Kurt said sadly. 'And the Che wasn't very subtle.'  
  
'Well, anything would have been better than,' he gestured behind him as he made a face, ' _that_!'  
  
'Ha! Yeah. Yeah. I'll see you at work, then?'  
  
'Oh!' Blaine looked at the door to Kurt and back again. 'I guess?'  
  
 _Oh, God_. He wants to come in! Just go, Blaine! Just go.  
  
Closing his eyes, Kurt took a deep breath. This was it, he just had to suck it up and tell him.  
  
'Blaine, I-'  
  
The door flung open, revealing a little girl with pigtails and smattering of freckles covering her nose and cheeks. 'Hello! I heard voices!'  
  
'Blaine! I'll see you tomorrow!' Kurt grabbed the girl's arm and pushed into the apartment. 'Bye!' With his butt, he knocked the door closed on Blaine's surprised face.  
  
Crap! Crap! Was this breaking and entering? He looked down at the girl, finger to his lips.  'I'm just going to stay here for five min-'  
  
' _MOM! MOM_!' Why couldn't he catch a damn break! He made violent shushing motions at the child but she was in her element. ' _STRANGER DANGER!'_  
  
'If you could just shut your damn yap for a sec-'  
  
'What's going on?' A harassed-looking blonde asked, walking into the room while drying her hands on a towel. 'Who are you?'  
  
'I'm- I'm-' Kurt straightened his back. 'I was wondering, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?'  
  
'Hmm,' the woman looked off into the distance, considering. 'How about you come on through to the front room and we'll discuss it?'  
  
Tomorrow morning, Kurt was demanding a goddamn raise. If he didn't get fired first.


	5. Chapter 5

As months tended to go, this was the best one of Kurt's life. Okay, okay: it wasn't  _all_  fantastic. He still hadn't shifted the cold that he had picked up from rifling through the park in the dead of night for his flung key, he had possibly sent a lovely woman to hell with his wild interpretation of the Bible and Karofsky, despite Santana covering for him, had it in for Kurt something bad.  
  
But he had Blaine. Well, as a friend, but that was better than what he had previously.  
  
‘—and you can’t hear what the other person is hearing. It is so funny. We have to go!’  
  
‘Hmm,’ Kurt placed his chin on his palms, considering. ‘Couldn’t we just get two iPods and listen to them while sitting next to each other? It’s the same principle, isn’t it?’  
  
‘Oh, so you can slip on the  _Wicked_  soundtrack?’ Blaine laughed. ‘The point is looking silly and having fun. Come on. I want to see your reaction if Snoop tells you to drop it like it’s hot.’  
  
‘Drop what like it’s what?’ Blaine simply stared as if some ultimate point had just been proven. ‘Fine! I’ll go to your silly silent disco thing with you.’   
  
Kurt gave a tiny sigh of annoyance, but inside he was dancing. He loved that Blaine was in his life so much these days. The only downside was that so much of their new friendship was built on nothing but lies.  
  
'Hummel! Where is that damn--' Karofsky snapped as he stormed out of his office, only to break off on seeing Blaine sitting opposite Kurt. 'Oh, uh.' He ran a hand through his hair. 'Hey.'  
  
Blaine didn't answer, or even acknowledge him. He just continued to smile at Kurt, nodding.   
  
'So, I'll pick you up around seven?'  
  
'Ah, yeah,’ Kurt said awkwardly.  _Oh!_  ‘No! I'll meet you there!'  
  
‘Again?’ Blaine smiled, tilting his head. ‘Have you not finished redecorating yet? You make Michelangelo look impulsive.’  
  
‘I decided to change to Earth tones, again.’ Kurt reddened, feeling Karofsky’s gaze on him.  _Don’t give me away. Don’t give me away._  
  
Karofsky scratched at the back of his neck. ‘Anderson, er—while you’re here, er—maybe you could take a look at my computer? Whenever I open Excel, it keeps telling me about V looks—‘  
  
‘Have you tried switching it on and off again?’ Blaine asked Kurt’s shoulder. ‘I’d take a look—‘  
  
‘That would be great!’  
  
‘But I have too much to do today.’ Blaine shrugged. ‘ _Terribly_  sorry.’ Kurt cringed. Oh, God, was  _this_  ever awkward.  
  
‘Fine,’ Karofsky gritted his teeth. ‘Did you—‘ he sneaked a look at Kurt. ‘Did you get the flowers?’ he whispered.  
  
‘Oh, those.’ Blaine shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid they died.’  
  
‘What!' asked Karofsky incredulously. ' _All ten bunches_? How the hell did they just up and  _die_?’  
  
‘I’m not sure,’ Blaine tilted his head, considering. ‘I think the lighter fluid and lit match may have been an overwhelming factor.’ He leaned forward and smiled at Kurt conspiratorially. ‘My apartment block had to vacate the building and stand outside for two hours in the middle of the night. I’m not very popular at the moment.’  
  
‘Look, Blaine, let’s talk about this.’ Karofsky glared at Kurt. ‘Alone,' he said, the word weighted with the threat of filing.  
  
‘Anything you have to say to me, you can say while Kurt is here. We have no secrets from each other.’  
  
‘Oh, really?’ Karofsky turned to Kurt, lips twisted in a grimace. ‘Is that right? How sweet.’  
  
‘So!’ Kurt clapped his hands. ‘Blaine! You should get back to that thing—that thing you need to do. The one stopping you from helping out with Mr. Karofsky’s computer!’  
  
‘Hmm, you’re right I guess.’ Blaine stood, and inspected his nails with faux nonchalance. ‘That lint isn’t going to remove itself from my trousers. See you later, Kurt!’ Blaine’s cheery smile dropped like lead. ‘Karofsky.’  
  
‘Heh,’ Kurt drummed his fingers on his desk nervously. ‘So, I think he’s maybe getting over it, you know. He seems less mad, anyway. He didn’t throw a trashcan at you this time!’  
  
Karofsky’s head snapped in his direction, his eyes bloodshot and jaw smothered in stubble. He looked like hell. ‘I see you haven’t told him about your part in this.’  
  
Kurt pursed his lips. ‘I see you didn’t  _either_ , Sir.’  
  
‘Maybe I’m doing you a favour, Hummel.’ Kurt raised a brow. ‘No, you’re right. I couldn’t say that with a straight face. Telling him about our arrangement isn’t going to race me back into his good graces anytime soon. Not really the right message.’ Karofsky scratched his chin. ‘I need him to see I’m serious.’  
  
Kurt bit his lip. ‘I thought it was just sex, Sir? Why do you care if he thinks you’re serious?’  
  
Karofsky considered him for a moment, obviously irritated. ‘My office now, Truffle.’ Without waiting for a reply, he stalked back into the room behind him, Kurt following with a weary sigh and closing the door. He really hoped Karofsky wasn’t going to try and claim that restroom cleaning was in Kurt’s contract again.  
  
'I assume you know about Santana,' said Karofsky sitting down heavily, with a grunt. 'About her and that-- that--'  
  
'Brittany?' Kurt nodded, taking a chair. The whole company knew about it. It was all anybody had talked about since Santana had stormed in the day after finding about Blaine, threw a hastily-packed bag of Karofsky’s clothes at him, and then grabbed the hapless Brittany into a bruising kiss as if she'd been waiting for this very excuse. Finn and Puck were still suicidal that such a fantastic moment in male fantasy had been wasted on Kurt. Jacob Israel had fainted dead away and required several stitches after cracking his head on the floor.  
  
Santana, to Karofsky and Kurt’s surprise, hadn’t mentioned a word about Blaine. Maybe she had a soul after all. Whatever the reason, Kurt knew that Blaine was grateful, since the last thing he wanted was to be a piece of gossip. Although the lesbian angle threw him for a loop.  
  
‘She’s filing for divorce,’ Karofsky told him.  
  
‘Oh.’ Kurt literally no idea how to respond. Judging by the snarl on Karofsky’s face the thumbs up had been the wrong way to go.   
  
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’  
  
Kurt deserved a medal for not nodding. ‘Of course not!’  
  
‘We both know Santana’s story about following me was bull. Brittany was in that book of yours, Hummel. She was in it a lot. Did you know? That it was Santana she was seeing?’  
  
‘I didn’t.’ Kurt shook his head sadly. ‘I know you think I’m lying but I’m not. I didn’t tell your wife, Sir.’  
  
Karofsky stared into him, as if in search of something. Evidently finding it he broke the gaze.  
  
‘Yeah, I believe you. Your face is like a fucking mood ring.’ He rubbed at his forehead wearily. ‘It’s done now. I don’t know what the hell happened but I do know my soon to be ex wife and she probably tortured it out of you somehow. She—‘  
  
‘I double booked you!’ Kurt cringed as the words jumped from his lips. Was he a masochist? He’d clean gotten away with it! ‘I mean—I didn’t mean to! It wasn’t on purpose! I just wasn’t paying attention and...’ Kurt trailed off on seeing the whiteness in Karofsky’s knuckles as they clenched tight into a fist.  
  
‘So, you are the reason? The reason I am living in a shitty hotel?’  
  
‘With due respect, Sir, it’s the  _Hilton_.’  
  
‘It’s not my marital bed, Hummel!’ Karofsky pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘The marital bed that you just got me thrown out of!’ He paused, and Kurt didn't like the look he saw creeping across the man's face. It was much too speculati for his comfort.  
  
‘Sir, again, with all due respect, technically it was your infidelity that got you -‘ The words tumbled out of Kurt's mouth in a frantic rush, but it wasn't fast enough. Karofsky managed to get two brain cells to rub together long enough for the spark of an idea to occur to him.  
  
‘Hummel, if I can't sleep in my own home then I'll have the next best thing to it,” he announced while Kurt cringed, mentally pleading for his boss to not finish the sentence. Alas, it was to no avail. ‘I'm moving in with you, cupcake.’  
  
‘Oh, I don't...my apartment...you've seen it, it's a matchbox...not that I don't sympathize, but really – ‘  
  
‘But really nothing. I'll be there tonight.’  
  
‘Sir, I don’t think you’re making the best decisions, right now.’ Kurt said slowly. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Your...your sexuality?’  
  
‘Don’t say words that contain ‘sex’ in them, Hummel. It’s like seeing a rabbit with a grenade. Weird and sad.’  
  
‘You’re deflecting.’  
  
‘And  _you’re_  annoying.’  
  
Kurt couldn’t take this. He couldn’t have Karofsky in his home. It was too much to ask. Why couldn’t he catch a break just once in his damn life? Plus, if Karofsky moved in how the hell was he going to rent out his apartment?  
  
‘Sir, I understand what you’re—‘  
  
‘The hell you do!’ Karofsky snapped. ‘You’re not watching everything you built up to just fall to shit.’  
  
‘Maybe it’s a good thing?’ Ignoring Karofsky’s snort, Kurt carried on. ‘This is your chance to be who you are. Who you really are! No more hiding. No more pretending.’  
  
‘Do you really think that you’re in a position to lecture on integrity?’  
  
‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s completely different!’  
  
‘Why? We both lied to get in Anderson’s pants, didn’t we?’  
  
‘Don’t you dare—‘ Kurt clenched his fists, nails digging into his palm. ‘Don’t talk about him like that!  
  
‘Oh, you’re really into him, aren’t you?’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Isn’t it a shame that you’ll be up typing up the Evans account all evening?’  
  
‘What—what?’ Kurt spluttered. ‘But they’ve went bankrupt, the paperwork will be insane!’  
  
‘Pause to mop up tears. Done. I need it by morning, I should probably have said earlier—‘ He pointed out the impossible amount of sheets on the edge of his desk. ‘Plum slipped my mind.’  
  
‘This is completely unfair,’ Kurt whispered. ‘You can’t keep doing this.’  
  
‘You know where the exit is, buttercup.’ Karofsky indicated to the door. ‘Why don’t you get some practise?’  
  
With an icy glare, Kurt got to his feet, snatching up the documents as he went. Fine, great. Another email to Blaine to say he was working late again. This was wonderful. This had better show up as overtime or Kurt would...would...  
  
 _Do nothing. Probably._  
  
‘Hummel?’ Karofsky asked softly as Kurt moved to the door. ‘Why?’  
  
‘Why what?’ Kurt turned, catching a slipping leaf of paper with his pinkie.  
  
‘The apartment. You never told me.’ Karofsky looked up at him and for the first time that Kurt could ever remember, Kurt could feel something than annoyance or exasperation from his boss. It felt like pity. ‘Why do you rent it out?’  
  
Kurt sighed, his eyes finding the floor and sticking there. ‘My dad—he—he’s sick. His heart. He needs an operation.’  
  
‘So? Doesn't he have health insurance?’  
  
‘Yes, but...” Kurt tried to work out how to explain it. ‘He's self-employed and...the last time he went to renew the policy, they increased his deductible because he'd had a couple of heart attacks. He still has a lot of the deductible to meet before they'll cover the cost of surgery, and even then his co-pay is kind of outrageous.” He blinked back tears. “I have to help him. He's my dad. We're all the family we have.’  
  
Karofsky’s face remained impassive and he nodded slowly, ‘That’s why you dropped out of a college, isn’t it? And took a job here.’  
  
Kurt shrugged. ‘He’s my dad,’ he repeated.  
  
‘I get that,’ Dave turned in his chair staring hard at the wall. A long moment passed and Kurt took that as his cue to leave, but Karofsky’s voice halted him. ‘My dad died when I was nineteen. It was a car crash.’  
  
‘Oh, Sir. I’m so sorry,’ Kurt said with genuine regret. ‘That must have been hard.’  
  
‘Yeah, he was a good guy. He deserved better, really,’ Karofsky looked over at him wryly. ‘I wasn’t exactly the golden child at the end, there.’  
  
‘I’m sure he loved you no matter what.’ Kurt could feel the folders straining into his arms but pushed the discomfort away. This was a rare glimpse into Karofsky’s humanity, and Kurt wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
‘Do you know what I did when I was nineteen, Hummel? I got expelled from school. Because I made a habit of shoving faggots like you into lockers.’ Kurt winced at the word, like nails scraping at an old wound. ‘I made them too scared to come to school. Told them they were wrong, unnatural. That’s the son my dad had. I bet you knew a few guys like me, huh?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Kurt said softly. ‘I did.’  
  
‘And was your dad there for you?’ There was no mistaking the emotion in Karofsky’s eyes now. ‘Despite your being—‘  
  
‘Yes. He was always there for me,’ Kurt’s voice choked. ‘He always is.’  
  
‘Yeah? I think my dad would have been. If I’d ever got the guts to tell him.’ Karofsky sniffed wetly. ‘Maybe things would have been different. Maybe they’d have been better, huh?’  
  
‘Sir, if you ever need to talk—‘  
  
‘He was a good guy, that’s all I was saying.’ Karofsky began to sort the folders on his desk, an easy charade that both knew was fooling no one. ‘Those files need to be in order by tomorrow. I suggest you get on with them.’  


 

* * *

  
  
‘Hummel! Why is everything in your fridge that queer organic stuff?’ Karofsky wandered in, milk cartoon in his hand open and- oh, dear God, was that a milk moustache?  
  
‘Use a cup, sir! That’s disgusting! And can you cool it with the casual homophobia?’  
  
‘Fine! Then don’t call me sir when we are in your apartment, Hummel. It sounds like some weird dominatrix game.’ They both shuddered at the image. ‘Call me Dave or Karofsky or fucking honey bunch. Just stop the sir stuff.’  
  
‘Okay,  _honey bunch_. Could you please not flood the entire bathroom when you use it? I had to go in there with a life raft.’ Kurt took the milk from Karofsky’s hand, cringing down at the saliva-covered rim. ‘Are you sure you’re gay? I mean...seriously?’  
  
‘I’m not watching _Cabaret._ We’ve been through this.’  
  
‘It’s  _my_  television!’  
  
‘Yeah, so you say! I thought it was an iPod. It took me a full twenty minutes to realise I was watching  _That 70’s Show_.’  
  
‘Only twenty minutes?’ Kurt trilled, throwing the milk into the fridge. ‘It felt longer.’  
  
‘The thing about you, Hummel,’ Karofsky said dropping onto the couch and putting his, good god, feet up on the table, ‘is that you’re too uptight. You need to relax.’  
  
‘Could you put some clothes on?’ Kurt wrinkled his nose. ‘Not that a wife beater and filthy, greying boxers aren’t extremely becoming on you, or anything...’  
  
‘Scared you won’t be able to control yourself?’ Karofsky winked and rubbed down his chest. ‘Yeah. I get that.’  
  
Kurt blinked. ‘That’s _it_. I’m going to stay with Mercedes.' He stalked over to the front closet and yanked out a Prada overnight bag he kept packed for the nights he was forced out of his apartment by financial necessity. 'I will see you at work, fully clothed and distinctly less obnoxious, tomorrow.'  
  
‘Oh, come on! I was just winding you up.’ Karofsky rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously, lighten up.’  
  
Lighten up! How could Kurt be expected to lighten up when the very source of every irritant in his life was in his one place away from him? His sanctuary. How could he lighten up when Dave Karofsky was under his roof, leaving bread crumbs in the butter? Wipe the fucking knife, was it that hard?  
  
‘I can’t do this,’ Kurt said quietly. ‘I can’t.’  
  
‘It’s been three hours!’ Karofsky scoffed. ‘And anyway, who are you to talk? You look like Richie Rich in those PJ’s. Why do you need a shirt pocket? You planning on taking a pen to bed to make notes or what?’ Karofsky sniffed. ‘Oh, yeah. I’m in the bed, right?’  
  
‘What? No! You get the couch!’ Kurt squeaked. ‘I’m not having you anywhere near my bed.’  
  
Karofsky raised his eyebrows. ‘Because I’m not paying for it?’ He laughed darkly. ‘You’d think you’d be a bit accommodating, considering you destroyed two of my relationships...’  
  
The doorbell’s ring ended any plans for Kurt’s retort and he spun on his heel, storming to answer it. Hopefully it was Mercedes. With a machete and a  _Get Out of Jail Free_  card. All he had to do was tell the judge the numerous assaults Dave had made on all the dairy and he’d end up with a parade.  
  
‘Fine. Fine!’ he shouted back as he opened the door. ‘You can get in my bed, Dave, but you best get out of those boxers first, I’m not...’ Kurt broke off on seeing who was on his door-step. ‘Blaine.’  
  
‘Kurt?’ Blaine gaped. ‘What are you doing here?’ His eyes scanned Kurt up and down. ‘Why are you--‘  
  
‘Hey, Hummel. You got—‘ Dave stuttered to a stop as he came up behind Kurt. ‘Blaine!’  
  
‘Oh, my God.’ Blaine laughed in shock and covered his face. ‘I mean, oh, my God. You two are— _oh, my God!_ ’  
  
Shit! Now Blaine knew about the apartment. Kurt had no choice but to tell him the truth, and face the consequences. ‘Blaine, I can—‘  
  
‘Explain? Really? So, how long has this been going on? Hmm.’ Blaine snapped. ‘Weeks? Months? While I was seeing him?’  
  
‘I don’t—‘ Okay, Kurt had expected Blaine to be angry but this unreal. He was practically shaking with rage. ‘Please just calm down!’  
  
‘Calm down? I find out my ex boyfriend is screwing my—my—‘ He shook his head. ‘How could you, Kurt?’  
  
‘Screwing?’ Kurt gasped. ‘Why—‘ Kurt glanced down at his clothes. He didn’t need to turn and look at Karofsky’s, they were burned onto his retinas. ‘No! No, no, no! This isn’t what it looks like!’  
  
‘Oh, please, Kurt!’ Blaine spat. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’  
  
‘No, please! You’ve got it wrong!’  
  
‘I hope you will be very happy together!’ Blaine’s voice cracked and he fell several steps back. ‘Thanks for being so honest with me!’  
  
Kurt watched, frozen, as Blaine turned and ran down the corridor.  
  
‘Oh, go after him, will you?’ Karofsky sighed. ‘I’m not listening to you cry into your skirts all night while you read your Sweet Valley.’ Kurt turned to him, incredulous. He didn’t know whether to be shocked that Karofsky wasn’t turning this to his advantage or whether he should rip off his own arm for something to beat the idiot with. ‘Well?' said Karofsky sharply. 'Get moving!’  
  
He bolted out the door without another thought, pausing only briefly when he hit the sidewalk outside in his bare feet.  _Oh my god, who knows what horrible germs there are out here I'll contract hepatitis and that cold will be looked upon fondly as a bright time in my life, he babbled internally. Jesus, it doesn't matter none of it matters where's – Blaine! There!_  
  
Kurt managed to shake himself loose from his paranoia and sprinted after the distantly retreating dark head. 'Blaine! Will you just listen!’ Kurt cried, grabbing at his elbow and flinching as Blaine shook him off. ‘Please!’  
  
‘Why? So you can lie to me some more? I don’t care, okay?’ Blaine shrugged and stared at the sky. ‘I actually came here to defend you, do you know that? I figured he’d be here since his wife had thrown him out. I thought someone  _needed_  to defend you. Stop him from treating you like crap. I thought maybe I could talk to him!’ He laughed. ‘How naive am I? I didn’t even realise it was a cover.’  
  
‘For goodness’ sake, Blaine!’ Kurt grabbed at his hair, trying to ignore the looks passers-bys were shooting his pyjamas and bare feet. ‘I’m not sleeping with him! I would never sleep with him! Not while I possess my sense of smell!’  
  
‘Oh, really?  _Really_. Then why are you two having a sleep over, huh? Why is he climbing into your bed sans boxers? Team building exercise, is it?’  
  
‘Look, just come upstairs and—‘  
  
‘I’m not going up there to watch you two coo over each other! I have some pride! Even if  _you_  don’t.’  
  
‘I rent out my apartment so people can hook up in it!’ Kurt screamed in frustration. ‘That is  _my_  apartment. Karofsky’s staying here because of...because of what happened with you.’  
  
‘I don’t—‘ Blaine’s brows bunched together. ‘What?’  
  
Closing his eyes, Kurt took a deep intake of breath. No outs this time. All of it had to come out. He began to talk slowly at first, working up the courage to open his eyes after a few moments. Once he had started it was like a dam and the whole story flowed out and lay itself at Blaine’s feet for his judgment. Blaine’s face merged and broke into new emotions with every passing word, Kurt could barely catalogue them all as they passed him by.  
  
‘—and that brings us to now,’ Kurt finished in a small voice, wrapping his arms tight around himself. ‘Do you believe me?’  
  
Blaine nodded, wordlessly. His gaze unbroken by such trivialities as blinking.  
  
‘Please. Say something.’  
  
‘What do you want me to say? Hmm?’  
  
‘I just—‘  
  
‘Did you laugh at me? You and him?’  
  
‘I told you, nothing is going on!’  
  
‘You knew how much faith I put into him showing me his home like that! Letting me into his life, when you knew what a lie it was!’  
  
‘That’s not fair! I didn’t know until afterward, Blaine! You stood me up and—‘  
  
‘Oh! Is this you getting back at me? You didn’t rush to correct me, did you? I sat up there crying on your shoulder, Kurt! I thought we were friends! I thought we were--- Oh, my God!’ Blaine clutched at his hair. ‘That little girl! She wasn’t your niece, was she? Where the hell did I drop you off!’  
  
‘Blaine, please!’ Kurt was close to tears now. ‘This isn’t about you!’  
  
‘Not about me? You’ve been lying to my face for weeks, Kurt! I don’t even know who you are.’  
  
‘You do know who I am! I swear! This past month has been amazing, Blaine. I—I really care about you, no please,’ Kurt grabbed at his arm, ‘I do. Please, Blaine. It’s not just not. I—the thing is I lo—‘

‘Kurt! Kurt!’ They both turned to see Karofsky dressed in Kurt’s bathrobe, far too small and delicate for his frame. If it hadn't been for the uncharacteristic look of concern on his face, it would have been a cause for hilarity.  
  
‘Fantastic!’ Blaine clapped his hands. ‘It’s a reunion.’  
  
‘Kurt!’ Karofsky ignored him, approaching with a face oddly pale, worried. ‘The phone,’ he gasped, struggling to get his words out. ‘You have to come.’  
  
‘In a minute, Karofsky! I need to talk to—‘  
  
‘Kurt, no,’ Karofsky grabbed his arm and forced Kurt to face him, his eyes wide with urgency and sadness. ‘I’m so sorry. But it’s about your father.’


	6. Chapter 6

When you lost someone, you never truly lost them. Even when sometimes you sort of wish you had. They were with you when you read a book, watched a movie, heard a song. Would they like this? Would that scene move them? Would that beat make their body sway? They second guessed everything you did, until you spent every minute you had trying to impress them. They were around every corridor, casting every shadow, always falling into step with yours.  
  
Sometimes it was blessing. Sometimes a curse. Especially when the reason they were gone was because of you. And you couldn't reach them no matter how much you stretched your hands, pain settling into you shoulders, as you fought to bring them back to you.  
  
 _Gone._  
  
'Kurt?' His father snapped his fingers. 'The salt?'  
  
Blaine Anderson was gone. And there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
'Here.' He picked up the salt shaker and began to pass it over before realising what he was doing. 'No! Wait! You can't have salt, dad. You had major surgery.'  
  
'One of these days, you're gonna fall for that,' Burt muttered. 'This looks like it's already been eaten.'  
  
'It's organic. It's good for you.'  
  
'Why am I being punished for having a bad heart?' He forked a mouthful up and eyed it like it had its own set of teeth. 'Where are you off to, anyway? Every time I look up you've got that daffy expression on your face.'  
  
'Nowhere, dad,' Kurt sighed. 'Eat up.'  
  
Burt sneaked a glance at him and set to work hiding things under the salad. Honestly, did he think Kurt couldn't recall these tricks from his youth? Of course, he'd been trying to hide a Big Mac under his lettuce then, which was a little more difficult.  
  
'Is it--' Burt pursed his lips. 'Man trouble?'  
  
'You have to stop watching  _Sex and the City_. It's warping your mind.'  
  
'I like the redhead. Leave me alone.' He made a brave face and shoved a portion into his mouth, swallowing before it could make acquaintance with his taste buds. 'So it _is_ a guy thing?'  
  
'Miranda? Seriously? Charlotte's the--'  
  
'Kurt?'  
  
'Fine.' Kurt tossed his napkin onto the table. 'There was-- there was  _nearly_  a someone. In New York.'   
  
'Nearly?'  
  
'We didn't exactly get it together.'  
  
'Your own Mr. Big,' his father said, sneaking a glance out of the corner of his eye. 'I see.'  
  
'I  _will_  cancel the cable, dad.'  
  
'Was it Dave?'  
  
'Oh, my God, no! Stop it!' Kurt slapped at his father's hand.   
  
'No salt? Or no Dave?'  
  
'Neither!' Kurt said. 'Why on Earth would you think that I would ever--'  
  
'Okay, okay. Calm down.' Burt held up his hands. 'I was just asking.' He picked up his fork and shovelled some of the eggs into his mouth. 'What kind of friend pays for the operation of a man they've never met?'  
  
'Chew, dad. He was-- he just,' Kurt shrugged, remembering the haunted look in Karofsky's eyes when he had mentioned his father, 'wanted to help. That's all.'  
  
'Help?' His father stared him down. 'You told me that PETA had a video of this Karofsky punching a dolphin.'  
  
'I may have exaggerated a little.'  
  
‘What about how he takes sirloin steaks to soup kitchens and eats outside the window?'  
  
'That was just once.' Kurt sat back in his chair with a huff. 'Look, it's wonderful what he did and all, but I am going to pay him back. It's not like he got visited by three ghosts or anything.'  
  
' _I'll_  pay him back, Kurt. That's my job. The Hummels don't accept charity.'  
  
Kurt grinned. 'Oh? And Carole Hudson coming around every day checking on you and feeding you pie is...?'  
  
'That's different. That's-- Carole's--' Burt blushed deep red. ‘Eat your weird food. It’s getting cold. Or hot. Or whatever it’s not s'posed to be.’  
  
Kurt had been touched when Finn had asked his mother to step in and check on fellow Lima resident Burt, as a favour to him. He wasn't the only one - Puck and Santana had sent their regards, and Mercedes called nearly every day. Even Karofsky checked in now and again. It had been two months but it was nice that he hadn't been completely forgotten.  
  
Except by one person.  
  
‘-offered to move in, when you go back to New York and--’  
  
‘Wait, what?’  
  
‘Carole? She suggested that she could move in, just until I was feeling more like myself. You’ll need to be heading back soon.’  
  
‘I can take care of you! And I’m not going back. I left my job, dad. Besides--’  _Since it’s the last place I want to be_... ‘-I’m looking into selling my apartment.’  
  
Burt shook his head. ‘Why do you want to stay around here, son? You spent your life working your way out. And I’m sure Karofsky will want you back. He seems like a reasonable kinda guy, especially to help you out like this. He clearly likes you,’ Kurt tried to ignore the hint in that, ‘and we’ve already discussed paying him back. I could do extra shifts and set up some sort of payment plan. Get it all paid back in no time.’  
  
‘Dad, you can’t even think about going back to the garage, yet!’ Kurt scolded. ‘You just had-’  
  
‘Kurt, I am not just going to sit around here forever, okay?’ Burt sighed and reached across the table, gripping his fingers tight. ‘I’m grateful to you and your buddy Dave, but the last thing I wanted was to become some kind of burden to you.’  
  
‘Oh, dad. You could never be a burden! I just want to look after you, that’s all.’  
  
‘Don’t put your life on hold for me.’ Burt’s grasp tightened. ‘Okay? That’s what you can do for me.’  
  
‘I’m not,’ Kurt insisted. ‘I just--’  
  
Just what? Had allowed a tiny gust of breath build into a hurricane? Spun more lies than he could readily control? Lost a real chance at the one? Lost Blaine. Was he really using his father as an excuse not to return? If he was here, he had a valid reason for not having Blaine in his life, but if he returned than the only reason would be that Kurt had made a mistake.  
  
‘You’ve been moping around here for the past two months, and I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s just because of me.’ Burt pointed a fork at him. ‘Spill.’  
  
‘Look, dad. I’d really rather not.’ Kurt avoided looking at his father as he speared another forkful of his casserole. 'I gave New York a shot, just like I always said I would. Turns out it's not what I want anymore.'  _More like it doesn't want me._  'My life, my choice. Can we drop it now?'  
  
'Fine,' Burt grumbled. ‘I’m going to hit the hay anyway, thanks for--' He made a gesture at the plate. ‘Whatever that was supposed to be.‘  
  
‘You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow. No sneaking down at midnight for a snack.’ Kurt methodically stuffed bites of dinner into his mouth, tasting none of it.  
  
On his way from the room, Burt stopped at Kurt’s chair and looked down at him, his expression searching. ‘This guy you’re not mooning over. What’s he called?’  
  
Kurt shook his head with a wry grin and gave up, just a tiny bit. ‘Blaine, dad.’  
  
‘The one who sent the card?’  
  
‘Yeah, that one.’  
  
‘It was a nice card. Simple. Straight to the point.’ Burt nodded, pausing a moment, his face thoughtful. Something clicked and Kurt could almost hear his father‘s decision to speak his piece formulate in his mind. ‘Love isn’t hard, Kurt. We just like to make it that way so we can write songs about it. Love, when it’s worth it, is really easy. You’re just got to let it run its course, that’s all.  
  
‘But what-- what if I made a mistake? A big one.’  
  
‘We are make mistakes, Kurt. And I bet it isn’t even as bad as you’re telling yourself it is.’ Burt's tone was fondly knowing as he patted his son's shoulder. ‘I know you, kiddo. Better than anyone. You’re good. You’re sarcastic, you have a disturbing love of female sweaters but you’re a good person. Whoever this guy is will see that.’  
  
‘And if he doesn’t?’  
  
'The only person stopping you, Kurt, is you. Give yourself a break, will ya?' His dad ruffled his hair. 'And get the hell out of your own way.' His hand dropped back to his shoulder, squeezing gently. 'G'night, kid.'  
  
'Night, dad,' Kurt murmured as his dad left the room.  
  
He looked down at the table and sighed. Neither of them had made much headway on their dinner, and he wasn't hungry anymore – if he even had been to begin with. Taking the plates to the sink, he scraped them into the disposal and puttered around the kitchen, cleaning up and sponging things down.

Despite his best efforts to distract himself, he couldn't help but think back to his last conversation with Karofsky.  
  
‘I swear, your voice is even whinier by telephone,’ Dave had greeted him when he'd picked up the call. ‘It’s like a 900 number for masochists.’  
  
‘Charming as always, that's you,’ Kurt answered. ‘I wanted to speak to you about payment.’  
  
‘I threw out that fruity stuff on the bathroom sink by the way. I think it went bad or something. It had brown spots in it.’  
  
‘That was hand soap, Karofsky! It was organic, it was supposed to have brown spots!’ Kurt had rubbed at his temples. ‘Whatever, never mind. Listen, about repaying you--’  
  
‘Will you stop?’ Karofsky’s voice had dropped. ‘There’s no urgency, okay? Think of it as less money for my wife to drag out of my ass. Don’t start renting out your tree-house.’  
  
‘Karofsky, I-’  
  
‘Just whenever you can and whatever you can spare. I’m not going hungry, Hummel.’ He had sighed down the phone. ‘I know what dads mean, okay? I see it as a good investment.’  
  
‘Thank you, Ka--Thank you, Dave.’  
  
‘Whatever. Now fuck off. I have a date.’  
  
‘Wait! Has-- has anyone asked after me?’  
  
And every time the answer had been the same. No. No one had asked, not the one that he had wanted to, at least.  
  
Kurt slipped the last plate into the dishwasher and sighed, leaning back on the counter and rubbing his temples to dispel the headache that had just lodged there. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only a quarter to nine. Great. Hours and hours and hours to go before he'd even feel like going to bed, and there was no guarantee he'd ever want to sleep.  
  
He decided to put in a movie and began wandering to the living room. The knock at the front door startled him. Who stopped by without calling first? 

As he pulled the door open, he had his answer: the only person he'd wanted to see, and the last one he'd expected.  
  
'Blaine!' Kurt gasped. 'What are you-- I--'  
  
'I needed to see you.' Blaine shrugged, his fingers clutching at the strap of a satchel. 'Can I come in?'  
  
Kurt heard the yes in his mind and felt his jaw move. It took him a moment to realise it hadn't been out loud. 'Uh, sure. Come in.'  
  
Blaine moved past him, without eye contact. Making his way into the den, he stopped and stared down at the couch.  
  
'Do you want coffee? Tea?'  _Me?_  Fortunately, Kurt had the presence of mind to arrest  _that_  particular offer before it could escape his lips.  
  
'I'm fine.' Blaine sat down, placing his bag at his feet. 'How's your dad?'  
  
'He's--' Kurt grinned, and gave a pleased shrug. 'He's doing well. Using what little energy he has to bitch and moan at me, but yeah, he's good.'  
  
'And, yourself?' Blaine was playing with his shoe lace now, and his voice was stiff and guarded. 'I trust you are well?'  
  
'Read a lot of Jane Austen on that flight, huh?' Blaine glowered at him and Kurt bit his lip. 'Why-- why are you here, Blaine?'  
  
'I brought your mail.' Blaine pulled his bag towards him. 'Dave asked me to drop it off.'  
  
'Oh.' Kurt's heart sank. 'You and Dave are-- Right.' Blaine's eyes narrowed and Kurt looked away. 'I don't understand why you didn't just forward it. You know my address. You sent my dad a card.'  _And my name was conspicuously absent._  
  
'I had some free time,' Blaine said with a shrug. 'I thought I'd see what you were up to.'  
  
'Hmm. And you couldn't do that by, oh, a phone?'  
  
There was a chill in the room and it was all coming from Blaine. 'Seeing is believing.'  
  
'Well.' Kurt couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. 'You've seen me now so--'  
  
'What? _You're_ mad at _me_?' Blaine stared at him in surprise.  
  
A bitter laugh tore from Kurt's throat. 'You couldn't have someone pass on one message? Or, at least give me the chance to explain?' Kurt got to his feet, hand clutching at his hair. 'I thought my father was going to die, Blaine. I realise I hurt you but--'  
  
'Hurt me?' Blaine was standing now, his brows high. 'Kurt, you have-- no, no, wait.' He grabbed at Kurt's wrist as if he thought Kurt might flee. 'Believe it or not, I didn't come all this way to argue with you. Please, hold on.'  
  
Kurt snatched his hand back, quickly crossing his arms. He couldn't look at Blaine. He just couldn't. The mixture of anger, guilt and hurt was too much. Especially when laced with so much hope.  
  
'I should have called you.' Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets, looking sheepish. 'I don't know why I didn't. No, that's a lie. I knew. I was pissed at you. And disappointed, too.'  
  
'I honestly never meant for it to affect you. I swear,' Kurt replied as earnestly as he could. 'My dad got sick and I needed money, I tried just working at first but it wasn't enough. This whole renting thing just fell into my lap. I never,' Kurt heaved a deep sigh, 'I never meant for it to go on for as long as it did.'  
  
'I know.' Blaine gave a small smile. 'Dave told me some of it. And a friend of yours. Mercedes?'  
  
'You've met Mercedes?' Kurt tried to ignore the thunderclap of pain in his chest at how casually Karofsky's name fell from Blaine's lips. 'When?'  
  
'She came into the office. She made threats to shove a toner cartridge into tender orifices of my body if I didn't stop messing you around.'  
  
Kurt winced. 'I'm sorry, I didn't ask her to do that.'  
  
'I know. Speaking of toner, is it true you used to print out the majority of Wikipedia, just so I'd have to come and change the cartridge?'  
  
Kurt was going to kill Mercedes.  
  
Blaine laughed, even though a blush was rising in his cheeks. 'You realise how much you were costing the department? Those things aren't cheap!'  
  
'I didn't care. It's not like Karofsky wasn't saving money by paying me a pittance anyway and besides –' Kurt took a deep breath before sending the words out in a rush. ' - I wanted to see you. Every day.'

Blaine simply gazed back at him, saying nothing, his expression giving nothing away. Kurt broke the eye contact first.  
  
'I really messed up, didn't I?' His voice was faint as he asked the question. Still, Blaine said nothing. When Kurt peeked up from under his lashes, his expression was still opaque.  
  
Just before the silence got awkward, Blaine spoke, rummaging in his bag as he did so. 'Here,' He handed over two envelopes. One thick, one thin. 'Your mail.'  
  
'This better not be bills,' Kurt muttered, choosing the slighter of the two. 'Oh,' he breathed on seeing the address in the corner.  
  
'Schuester Fashion.' Blaine nodded. 'This is it.'  
  
'You came all this way to see me be _rejected in person_?'  
  
'Stop being so dramatic! I don't care how adorable it is, I've been dying to open that the whole way here. So, go on, open it!'  
  
Adorable. Blaine thought he was adorable. Kurt's shock of excitement almost made him forget what he held in his hands, until his fingers clenched involuntarily and made the paper rustle. He looked at it again in wonder before biting his lip and shaking his head.  
  
'It-- It doesn't matter, anyway.' Kurt's fingertips skimmed the edge. 'I can't leave dad, not while he's like this.'  
  
'Finn said that his mom was often dropping in?' Blaine pointed out, his expression slipping into a smirk. 'And rumour has it she's having better luck than you did with that hot air balloon and kitten.'  
  
'Oh, ew!' Kurt glared. 'That's my father.'  
  
'Who is a grown up, Kurt.' Blaine moved to stand by him, nudging him with his shoulder. 'He gets to make his own decisions. And mistakes, when it comes down to it. We all do. God knows I'm not even any kind of a saint.'  
  
Kurt pressed a hand over his heart in mock surprise. 'Good heavens, is it really Blaine Anderson, standing here in my living room, admitting he's not perfect?'  
  
'Try not to get used to it.' Blaine rolled his eyes. 'Look, are you ever, ever going to open that letter?'  
  
He looked down one last time at the sealed envelope. 'Fine. Fine.' Looking around, he spotted a letter opener on the table near the basket his dad put bills in and picked it up, slicing through the top fold with ease. With one last deep breath, he pulled out the paper inside and unfolded it.  
  
'Well?' Blaine pressed closer, the warmth of his arm against Kurt's own. 'What did it say?'  
  
'I'm in,' Kurt said numbly. 'They want me to start in September!'  
  
'Kurt! That's amazing!' Blaine grabbed him into a hug, and for one moment all the last three months faded away into nothing but a tight embrace.  
  
'No, I mean-- yes, it's amazing but I can't, Blaine! For one thing, I can't afford the rent on my apartment without a job and--'  
  
'That's taken care of.' Blaine stepped back, his hands tight against Kurt's elbows. 'Look at the other envelope.'  
  
Kurt put the acceptance letter aside and reached for the bulkier package, ripping it open he stared down at it in confusion for a few moments. 'It's a lease. On my apartment.'  
  
'Dave's spoken to the landlord, he wants to change it to his name. He finds it,' Blaine dipped his index fingers into quotation marks, 'Ah, 'charming and shit.' And yes, I do quote.'  
  
'I guess-- I guess I couldn't keep it.' Didn't want to keep it, more like. It was no longer his haven, his sanctuary. But he didn't want to know he was handing over a love nest to Karofsky and Blaine, either. Selfish as that thought was after everything Karofsky had done for him. 'But I can hardly afford another one.'  
  
'No problem.' Blaine grinned. 'Mercedes wants you to stay with her.'  
  
'Oh, Blaine, I can't just impose on her like that! And my dad--'  
  
'You won't be. You need to let people hold you up once in awhile. People want to help you, Kurt. You mean a lot to--' Blaine cleared his throat, '--people.'  
  
'My father has just had a serious operation, Blaine.'  
  
'It's not until September. That's two months away, Your father will be fine, he has his friends, he has Mrs. Hudson. He won't be alone, Kurt.' Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck, kneading at his skin. 'You can't keep putting obstacles in your own way.'  
  
Kurt started at that, at the similarities to his father’s words from earlier. Karofsky and Mercedes were already involved, and Kurt wondered idly if a phone-call had been placed to his dad as well. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’  
  
‘Then think it over. And then tomorrow you can show me the sights of Lima.’ Blaine gestured to his own bag. ‘I assume I can stay? I didn’t book a hotel because I know how much you love pretending to be one.’  
  
Kurt laughed in shock. ‘You don’t think that was slightly presumptuous or anything?’  
  
Blaine smiled back, the warmest one since Kurt had found him on his doorstep. ‘Life’s about risks, Kurt. Don’t you know that?’  
  


* * *

  
  
_‘It’s been a long time.’  
  
‘Yes, it has hasn’t it?  
  
‘Well, it is good to see you.’  
  
‘You’ve said that.’_  
  
Cary Grant was looking down at Deborah Kerr now, barely concealed anger as she stared in shock at his sudden appearance.  
  
Kurt glanced sideways, the sounds of the television faint as he watched the light dance across Blaine’s face. Blaine Anderson, here at his side watching weepy movies with him and not a single lie in sight.  
  
‘I can’t believe you made me set up your DVD player. I’m supposed to be off the clock,’ Blaine muttered with an amused glance to the side.  
  
‘No one knows what those three wires do,’ Kurt insisted.  
  
‘Oh, my God! They're colour coded – oh, whatever.’ Blaine returned his attention to the screen.  
  
 _‘Don’t you agree that when someone doesn’t keep an appointment, they should apologise?’_  Grant asked a devastated Kerr.  
  
‘You know,’ Blaine said slowly. ‘Maybe staying at Mercedes' isn’t the best idea.’  
  
Kurt felt his heart plummet. ‘Oh? Why’s that?’ He tried to keep his tone disinterested, as if he hadn’t already screamed yes in his head about returning to New York.  
  
‘It’s so far from Schuester’s offices. You’d be late every day. Wouldn’t look good.’ Blaine shifted on the couch, dipping the sofa and causing Kurt to press even closer against him. ‘It’s just around the corner from me.’  
  
‘I-- I see.’ He couldn’t be suggesting what Kurt thought he was suggesting.  
  
Could he?  
  
‘And I’ve got this spare room. Just sitting there. Needs to be cleaned out, paint job could use a do-over.’ Blaine shrugged. ‘Maybe duck egg blue?’  
  
‘Blaine,’ Kurt began but he had nowhere to go from there. Was Blaine offering out of friendship? As wonderful as it was to have Blaine back in his life, Kurt couldn’t be sure he could settle for that, because at some point during these past few months Kurt had fallen for Blaine. Fallen for him hard. Love was easy, his father had said, and in no way would being that close be easy. ‘What would Karofsky think?’  
  
‘Why would it have anything to do with him?’ Blaine gave him a bemused look. ‘We aren’t dating. I don’t even work there anymore.’  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘I didn't say? I quit last month. Hence the free time. Don’t look so sad! I have a new position now, it’s quite good, too.’ He looked back towards the screen. ‘Schuester Fashions, maybe you know about it?’  
  
‘What?’ Kurt was gaping now. ‘But-- I don’t, I don’t understand--’  
  
‘I went for an IT consultant position, and after ridding Mr. Schuester’s computer of the Sylvester virus he hired me on the spot. He was pretty grateful actually. So grateful that he did me a favour and dug through the mail and what do you know – there was your internship application and letters of recommendation.'  
  
Kurt sucked in a breath. ‘He offered me the internship because of  _you_?’  
  
‘No, he offered it because you’re talented. I just pointed him in the right direction.’ Blaine sounded so calm when all of Kurt’s world was one resounding heart beat.  
  
‘You did that for me? After everything that had happened?’ Kurt could feel tears prickling his eyes and for the first time in months they weren’t ones of sadness. ‘You’d actually want me to live with you?’  
  
On the television, Grant was storming around Kerr’s room now, full of false bravado and very real hurt. She gazed up at him with sad eyes while he spun words that cut and wounded.  
  
‘Isn’t it sad?’ Blaine whispered, staring at the screen and moving closer to Kurt. ‘They're so clearly meant to be together and everything keeps getting in the way. Misunderstandings, trust issues, pride.’ He paused, and they sat in silence for a moment, Kurt almost afraid to even breathe. 'I didn't want to be hurt again,' Blaine announced suddenly. 'That's why I never called. I knew if I did, I would forgive you the moment I heard your voice. Like I did the moment I saw you in the doorway. I was scared that I’d end up trusting you again, only to be hurt like I was with Dave but-- the way I feel about you, is  _so_  much more than the way I felt about him.’ Kurt had to remind himself to breathe as he stared at Blaine’s profile. ‘I know you never meant to hurt me, that it was the furthest thing from your intention. You’re not like that, Kurt. I just-- I just  _know_.’  
  
‘I love you,’ Kurt burst out, without any communication from his brain to his mouth.  
  
Blaine’s mouth curved into a smile as he continued to watch the couple on screen. Cary Grant was throwing open Deborah Kerr’s bedroom door now, realisation climbing slowly over his face.  
  
‘I absolutely adore you,’ Kurt continued, all his walls fallen by the wayside in the rush of his emotion.  
  
Cary Grant walked slowly back into the living room, his eyes full of understanding and regret.  
  
‘Blaine? Aren’t you listening? I’m trying to tell you how I feel!’  
  
'Shh,' Blaine leant to his side, cheek resting against the crown of Kurt's head and his arm closing tightly round his shoulders. 'Here's the best part.'  
  


**The End**


End file.
